


Apple Antics

by carolej126



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen, Holidays, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:55:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carolej126/pseuds/carolej126
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A slice of life Christmas story revolving around apples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apple Antics

A

"Are you about ready for dinner, Jim?"

"What?" Jim asked absently, his attention still focused on the report in his hand.

"Dinner," Blair repeated patiently. "You know, the last meal of the day."

"Oh. Right." Glancing down at his watch, Jim's eyes widened in disbelief. "I'm sorry, Chief. I didn't realize it was so late. You must be starving."

"Nah, it's okay," Blair reassured him with a smile. "You were busy."

Jim didn't smile back. "Uh, about dinner..." The detective shook his head, letting out a weary sigh as his gaze swept across the large stack of files on the coffee table that still awaited his perusal. "I know I said I'd cook tonight, but..."

"Don't worry about it," Blair cut in. "I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure? I thought you had exams to grade."

Blair waved off his friend's concern. "Had is the operative word. I just finished the last one."

"Already?"

"Multiple choice, man. Much faster than essays." Opening his already-stuffed backpack, Blair shoved the graded exams inside. "Now, what to have for dinner. Something easy. Something..."

"We've got some chicken in the freezer," Jim suggested helpfully.

Blair shook his head. "I'm not really in the mood for chicken. Maybe..." His eyes brightened. Jumping to his feet, he reached for the phone book, flipping through the yellow pages until he came to the restaurant section.

Jim grinned. "Delivery?"

"Yep," Blair laughed. "Chinese okay?"

Chuckling as his stomach rumbled in response, Jim answered, "Yeah, that's fine."

"Great! I'll call it in."

 

P

Puzzled by the sounds coming from the kitchen, Jim turned to see Blair rifling noisily through the cabinets. "What are you looking for?"

Blair held up a large cake pan. "This."

"I thought you ordered dinner?"

Blair nodded. "I did. It'll be here in about forty-five minutes."

Watching curiously as Blair pulled his hair back and rolled up his sleeves, Jim finally asked, "So, what are you doing?"

"Baking."

"Baking?" Jim echoed. "What are you going to make?"

"Apple Cranberry Cookie Cobbler."

"Mmmm." Jim's eyes sparkled, already anticipating the upcoming olfactory delight. "Sounds good!"

"It's for the Christmas party tomorrow night. I signed up to bring dessert."

"Oh," Jim commented, his tone slightly disappointed.

"So did you," Blair added, tying Jim's apron loosely around his waist.

Jim gave him a quizzical look. "I did?"

Bending down to retrieve several apples out of the refrigerator's fruit bin, Blair grinned. "Yep. But I can make enough for both of us."

"Do we have to take all of it to the station?"

"What do you mean?"

"I thought maybe we could have some for dessert tonight."

"Well, I don't know," Blair teased, "I guess I could make an extra batch, if..."

"If what?"

"If you finish all your homework."

Despite mumbling "Yes, Mom" under his breath, Jim quickly picked up the next file folder.

 

P

"Parker, Thompson, Eichin, Wilson, Reinhold," Jim read off, thumbing through the folders still remaining in his 'to do' pile. "And let's not forget Frederickson. I think I'll start with you," he decided, opening the top folder.

"Four apples, cranberry sauce, brown sugar, flour, ground cinnamon," Blair read off, skimming through the directions on the recipe card. "And last, but not least, sugar cookie dough," he added, setting the last item on the counter.

"DUI in 1990..."

"Preheat oven to 400 F..."

"Possession of drugs in 1991..."

"Peel, core, and slice apples..."

"Burglary in 1993..."

"Combine cranberry sauce, sugar, flour, and cinnamon..."

"Armed cinnamon in 1996..."

Both men fell silent, staring at each other.

Shaking his head in amusement as Blair began to laugh, Jim rolled his eyes and sheepishly admitted, "I, uh, meant armed robbery."

 

L

"Let's see if you're paying attention." With a mischievous look at his busy friend, Blair quietly murmured, "Who wants to help peel the apples?"

Deeply engrossed in his work, Jim simply muttered, "Uh, huh."

Blair snickered. "Who wants to help core the apples?"

"Mmmm, hmmm."

"Who wants to help slice the apples?"

Jim finally looked up. "Chief? Did you say something?"

"Do you want to help?" Blair held out the paring knife.

"No, not right now," Jim responded, his attention immediately returning to his work.

"Not I, said the pig," Blair whispered, sentinel-soft.

"I heard that, Sandburg," Jim growled without looking up, a smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

"You were supposed to!" Blair laughed.

 

E

"Evenly, it says, 'arrange evenly'," Blair mumbled from the kitchen. "That's what I'm trying to do. Maybe the pan is crooked."

Jim chortled softly at the overheard words. Setting the last file folder into the 'completed' pile with a pleased sigh of relief, he stretched his arms high above his head before turning to look in the kitchen

With a classic double take, Jim stared in amazement at his partner. Flowery apron hanging askew from his hips, cranberry sauce smeared across his cheek, sugar crystals sparkling in his hair, and a light dusting of flour covering every inch from his head to his toes, Blair had apparently put up a good fight but lost the war.

"Come on, you can fit in there. Just tell that other slice to move over."

Unable to resist, Jim got up from the couch and sauntered toward the kitchen. "Anything I can do to help?"

Blair snorted. "Yeah, right, Jim." Waving a flour-covered hand in Jim's direction, he sent a powdery cloud into the air. "Your idea of helping is tasting."

Fighting back the urge to sneeze, Jim shrugged innocently. "Somebody's got to make sure they're edible."

"I thought you had work to do."

"And I thought you were making apple cobbler."

"I am."

"Sandburg, you've got more on you than in the pan."

Blair's mouth opened wide at the perceived insult. "I do not!"

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Go look in the mirror, flour boy."

Slip-sliding across the floor in his stocking-clad feet, Blair headed into the bathroom.

Jim waited.

"Oh, man! How did that happen?" With an embarrassed grin on his face, Blair reappeared a few seconds later, still ineffectively trying to brush the flour from his clothes.

Chuckling, Jim gestured toward the cobbler. "What's next?"

"Ummm..." Blair double-checked the recipe. "This one is ready to go in the oven, and then I have to start on the second batch."

"Just tell me what to do." Jim rolled up his sleeves, ready for action.

A pleased smile crossed Blair's face. "You really want to help?"

Jim smiled in return. "Yeah."

Blair hesitated. "What about your paperwork?"

"All done."

"Okay!" Blair said excitedly. "Why don't you start with the apples and I'll do the mixing."

"Don't wave that knife around, Chief. You don't want to... give me that!"

Light-hearted banter and warm laughter rang through the loft as the mouth-watering scent of apple cobbler began to fill the air.

~end~


End file.
